The Séance. Heather Graham

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      Dan made a sound as if a soft and wicked wind were moving through the room.

      Christina, arms folded against her chest as she leaned against the arched doorway, groaned.

      Ilona and Tony set their fingers on the planchette, which began to move, finally settling over the J.

      “January,” Ana breathed.

      “It’s gotta be at least July,” Tony said. “We’re just not ready yet.”

      “Look at that,” Mike said as the planchette started moving around erratically. “She wants January, he won’t be ready until July, and poor Mr. Ouija doesn’t know what to do.”

      “You’re pushing it,” Tony accused Ilona.

      “No—you’re pushing it,” Ilona protested.

      “Don’t take it so seriously. It’s just a game,” Mike said lightly, as if aware that a real argument was in the offing.

      And that was all that it was: a game, Christina reminded herself.

      “Fingers barely touching the planchette,” Ana advised. “Christina, come over here and help me show them how to do it.”

      “Oh, all right. But we’re not doing this all night,” Christina protested. She flashed a smile at Ilona. “I want to learn more about how you and Tony got together. Who cares when the wedding is? We’ll all have a good time whenever you choose to have it—if we’re invited, of course.”

      “Of course you’re invited,” Ilona said.

      “All right, all right,” Ana said. “Just get down here.”

      “Is it dark enough? Want it spookier?” Dan teased.

      “That fog is spooky enough,” Ilona said, and shivered.

      “It’s just fog,” Christina said, barely managing not to shout. Damn. It wasn’t like her to be so edgy, but it was unnerving to realize how closely she fit the description of the victim of a serial killer.

      Either a copycat…

      Or a maniac who had somehow escaped detection for twelve years.

      “And don’t forget the moon,” Ilona added.

      “Are you thinking werewolves?” Tony teased her.

      “There are enough real monsters out there,” Christina said. “There’s no need to make up more.”

      There was a sudden uncomfortable silence in the room. She realized she had snapped out the words rather than simply speaking them.

      “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. What was wrong with her? It was just…

      It was just that stupid Ouija board and the idea of talking to spirits. She suddenly found the past welling up in her mind, a vision that was far too real. She could see Gran, after her grandfather had died. Sitting in her chair, looking at her so somberly. She’d dreamed that she’d talked to her grandfather. A psychology professor had once told her that such dreams were defense mechanisms, a way to reconcile oneself to losing someone. But Gran had said, “It’s dangerous. You have opened a door….”

      That was just Gran and the Irish speaking. She had never had such dreams again. Not even when she had lost her parents.

      All of that was far behind her now. She was a perfectly rational, sane person, and it was just the Irish sense of fun that made them all pretend to believe in banshees and leprechauns and even dreams.

      “Okay, Ana, let’s show everybody how it’s done,” she said, then lowered her voice teasingly. “It was a dark and stormy night…no, it was a dark and foggy night, with a strange, full moon rising above the mist.”

      Her light banter didn’t seem to be helping her mood any, she thought, and apparently it was obvious.

      “You okay, Christie?” Mike asked.

      “I’m fine,” she snapped.

      “My fault,” Mike said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

      “Mike, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at anyone. I guess I’m just tired.”

      “You’re really okay?” Dan said softly.

      “Yes, of course. Come on, Ana. Let’s do this Ouija thing and be done with it, okay?”

      “Hello, Ouija board,” Ana said, as if she were greeting an old friend.

      Christina forced a grin, then set her fingertips very lightly on the planchette, which took off, slowly spelling out “Hello, good evening.”

      “Is there a spirit in you tonight, Ouija board?” Ana asked.

      “Is she for real?” Christina heard Tony whisper to Dan.

      “Who knows?” Dan replied.

      “Real? Real is what we make it,” Mike put in.

      Christina knew that she wasn’t moving the planchette, so Ana had to be the one causing it to spell out the answer.

      “Y-E-S,” Ilona read softly.

      “Who are you?” Ana asked.

      They all stared as the planchette began to move again and Dan read aloud, “B-E-A-U-K-I-D-D…Bookid?”

      “It must mean boo, kid,” Mike said. “Boo, like Halloween. Kid, like a trick-or-treater.”

      “No,” Dan murmured. “B-E-A-U. Beau, like a man’s name.”

      “Like General Beauregard, the Confederate military leader,” Tony offered. “Right?”

      “Beau Kidd. The detective who was supposedly the Interstate Killer!” Dan gasped.

      “You did that on purpose!” Mike accused Ana.

      “The hell I did,” she retorted adamantly.

      “The thing moves by the power of suggestion,” Mike said impatiently.

      “Ask him what he wants,” Dan said. “Watch—it will spell out, ‘I was framed. I’m innocent.’”

      “What do you want?” Ana asked the spirit softly, ignoring Dan.

      Christina gritted her teeth, longing to lift her fingers from the planchette, but somehow she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

      The planchette continued to move.

      It was Ana, damn her. She had to be forcing it.

      But what was really unnerving Christina was that she didn’t think Ana was forcing it.

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